What If?
by ToiletWater
Summary: An AU to House's Head and Wilson's Heart. Mostly Wilson's Heart. Just a little some thing I thought of to make life easier for me and those who didn't particularly like the ending of the original . Hope you like! Slight Hameron, Wilson/Amber and Huddy.
1. Prologue

Title: What If?

Summary: An AU to House's Head and Wilson's Heart. Mostly Wilson's Heart. Just a little some thing I thought of to make life easier for me and those who didn't particularly like the ending of the original. Hope you like!

Disclaimer: I do not own House. I also don't own any of the songs/artists I may choose to use in this story later on.

A/N: I probably screwed the quotes big time. . But I guess this is an AU, so maybe you can forgive me?

"Jane Doe number two..." House breathed out as he attempted to regain his breath. Thirteen stepped over, filtering through the chart on her clipboard.

"Twenty-seven year old female... severe kidney damage--"

"Twenty-seven year old female..." House trailed off, the memory of the file coming back to him. He looked up at Wilson, struggling to maintain eye contact with him. "...does she have a birth mark on her right shoulder blade?"

Wilson was in shock. Amber was twenty-seven, and she'd be turning twenty-eight in a few months. She had a birthmark on her right shoulderblade that he'd often compared to a tiny mosquito- though he could never really imagine why. "Amber wasn't on the bus!" he protested; it didn't make any sense. Or maybe it was because there was some thing else that made more sense? "She's been on call!"

"Have you spoken to her?" he asked, gaining enough breath to make it significantly easier to talk. He tried to sit his head up.

"I called her this morning and she..." he stopped a second, thinking about it. "...didn't call me back. " realization set in. He heaved a breath and his eyes shifted around. House breathed heavily in an attempt to fill his lungs. He wanted to sit up, but his body wasn't cooperating. "Why was Amber on the bus with you?!"

"I don't know." he slurred out, slumping back down. His eyes moved over to Cuddy; "Have her transported here." after a second, he reached for his cane.

"Right after we take care of you." she insisted; "Your heart stopped!"

He narrowed his eyes on her. "I'll be fine." he growled out angrily, grabbing one of the seats and using it to sit himself up. He rested his arm on the chair and stopped, catching his breath- he'd gotten dizzy. "She's dying." he couldn't help but wonder if they actually knew that. He grabbed his cane and used the seat next to him again to finish standing up, and walked as fast as a man with a dead leg could walk off of the bus.

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They sent Amber over in an ambulance. When she first got there, she was unconcious and a doctor from the other hospital had her on a morphine drip- probably for her leg. Speaking of which, House wondered if they'd done any thing for it yet. House moved the white hospital blanket up, and looked around where he remembered the pole having gone through. There was a thick patch of gauze taped to her leg on both sides that they must have just put there to stop the bleeding. No stitches. They'd probably wanted to evaluate the damage, figure out what was going on. He moved the gauze away and inspected the damage on both sides. Nothing major- just a break in the upper femur. All they'd have to do was insert an IM rod and she'd be fine. He mentally heaved a sigh of relief; she should be able to regain full use of her leg. Any surgical team should be able to do it. He re-covered the injured area, and walked back into his office.

He grabbed his phone and called in a surgical team from a few flights up in the hospital. They may as well get that problem out of the way. Within the hour, the team came down from upstairs and began the operation. Since no one really knew what had been going on, they opted not to use an anestesthic unless she woke up and needed it. They placed a pulse monitor on her to make sure every thing was working all right, and began the operation.

That was where it began.

Her heart began to race.

A few of the surgeons stopped and backed off, and the other two made sure the checker was correctly in place. "Stop it! Call it off! Her heart's racing! " called the head surgeon in a slightly paniced tone.

In a paniced rush, the team of surgeons rushed around to stop it. Then House, who'd been watching from the beginning, came in through the door in a hurry. "Worry about that later, dammit!" he hollared; "Get her on V-tach!"

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A/N: Sorry, the prologue is a bit short. The rest of the chapters should be longer, though. I hope you enjoyed! I will be adding more chapters in the near future.


	2. Sherry

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House sat in the glass room with Foreman, his new ducklings, Wilson, and Cuddy all standing by. "Racing Heartbeat" was written in black up on the white board under symptoms. It felt like the clock was ticking against them, and Amber being unconcious, drugged-up and under V-tach complicated things. Since they'd V-tached her, most of her symptoms would be nearly impossible to detect. God, did House wish he could remember more of the time he'd lost.

"What ever this is," Foreman began; "it wasn't caused by the crash."

"It could be Hyperthyroidism." Thirteen stated, though she seemed a bit distracted.

"Why would she just be having symptoms now?" asked Wilson, seeming genuinely curious.

"Maybe she's not." stated House, twirling his cane around between his hands. "Maybe it's just the first time some one's ever noticed."

"She's a doctor." stated Wilson, matter-of-factly. "If she were experiencing symptoms, she'd know to tell some one!"

"How do you know she didn't?" asked House, quirking an eye brow. "We can't rule any thing out."

"Graves Disease is a common form of Hyperthyroidism." suggested Cuddy.

Every one was silent for a second. The type of silence that confirmed that what had been said was worthy of the thought-process of Dr. House. "Test for Graves Disease." he said finally, standing. "If that's all it is, we'll do a partial thyroidectomy."

They all shuffled, pulling their files in together as they stood. This time, it was done quietly. In fact, there seemed to be a tensity in the room. House wasn't shooting out his usual sexual remarks. No one argued when Hyperthyroidism was mentioned. House didn't shoot it down for being "uninteresting".

"House," said Cuddy, looking at him seriously; "you need to rest. Over-working yourself is only going to cause more problems! A dead man can't do any good here."

"I'm not dead."

"Yet! But if you keep over-working yourself, you could be. Go home. Get some rest. I'll even take you if you don't have a ride!" she eyed him sadly, her eyes almost begging him to cooperate. "Please, House. "

"Is this the part where I pretend to care?" he asked, walking right by her. She turned and faced him as he got into the door way and began to walk out.

"I- I'm taking you off the case!" she said, in a way that was more threatening than fact.

"Do you know any one else who can solve this case?"

"We solved it! Hy-"

"And if it's not?"

Cuddy was absolutely silent. House's face was stone hard.

"Didn't think so." and at that, he turned and walked away- down the hall and into his office.

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A few patient files from the previous day were piled up on his desk. He remembered tossing them there before he got on his motorcycle, but from there to the bus crash his memory was missing. Maybe there would be some clue as to where exactly he went after work. He filtered through the files, but there was nothing. Absolutely no clue. He turned back towards his desk, leaned his elbows against it and placed his temples in between his hands. He'd never felt so much stress over saving a patient before in his life. Unable to sit still, he grabbed the fuzzy red-and-gray ball off the corner of his desk and began tossing it up and down. Maybe if he could figure out what bus he was on, he could figure out where he'd been. Find out the route of the bus and go from there. He stopped tossing the ball up and down and turned to place it back on the desk. As he did so, the corner of his eye caught on to some red fabric- about three feet away from his desk.

"How are you?"

"Well," he said, sitting up and getting a full-view of the person; "you just proved to me that my brain is not in the best of conditions."

"How so?" she asked, a teasing smile at her lips.

"I'm having a hallucination. Well-functioning people don't get those very often- then again, you should know that, shouldn't you Amber?"

She made a very soft, haughty laughing sound and leaned in to the desk. "So, how did this all happen?"

Hmm. That was the very same question he was asking himself. Which meant that this could be more than a hallucination. Perhaps a memory, or information from his subconcious. "I should be asking you that."

The hallucinated Amber smirked at him lightly, and suddenly placed a large bottle of a deep-red liquid on the desk. "What bar did you go to?"

"If I knew that, I would've gotten the keys back for my motorcycle already." he replied.

"Wanna drink?" she asked, passing him a large, crystal glass of the deep red liquid.

"Sure. Don't think I can get drunk off a hallucination." she poured herself a drink and they clicked their glasses together as House muttered a light "cheers". He then took a careful drink of it. "Hng. Sherry." When he looked back up, the hallucination was gone. But there was another question on his mind. He unclenched the hand that a few moments ago thought it was holding a beverage, grabbed his cane and took off out of the office.

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"Wilson," he began, simply walking into his friend's office; "does Amber drink Sherry?"

"No." he replied, eyeing House skeptically. "Actually, she hates it. I had her try it once with me and she spit it right out."

"Hnn..." he mused, beginning to pace. "Then Sherry's has to mean some thing..."

"What are you talking about? Did you have a flashback?"

"..well...sort of..." he sighed, positively frustrated. "Do you know any one named Sherry?"

"Amber...has a friend named Sherry." Wilson mused. "Sherry... I think... Ivanov."

"That works." he said, pausing to take a handful of vicodin. "Could you give me a ride to her house?"

"What?!" responded a very shocked Wilson. "I don't really even know this woman, we haven't called or talked to her or any thing and you just want me to pick up and take you to her house?!"  
"This is important!" House replied, giving Wilson a stone-cold glance that just said 'I mean it'. "If she was there, I may be able to figure out or at least find out what exactly happened- or at least where I was!"

"But why would the two of you be at her house?"

"Maybe the two of us wouldn't. But she could have gone there before she came to pick me up."

Wilson took in a deep breath through his nose- the kind that meant he was contemplating some thing. It did make sense- to some degree. House didn't remember where he'd been, so it probably wasn't a bar he went to regularly. Amber may have gone to see Sherry to ask her for directions. He could have known about that much if Amber brought it up to him. "Okay, House." he answered, defeated. "I think I remember her address." he shuffled the car keys around in his pocket and stood.

House followed Wilson down the elevator and into the parking lot. He didn't really feel much like driving, since the Vicodin hadn't kicked in to take away the pain in his leg, so Greg just got and sat down in the passenger's seat. Thankfully, the car started up smoothly and Wilson drove them out on to the rode.

"So," began the oncologist, now noting that he had an opportunity to find out; "what exactly happened?"

"If I knew--"

"Not that." he replied, the car stopping at an intersection. "I mean, what did you remember?"

"It wasn't exactly a memory." House stated casually, leaning his head up against the window. "It was more like a..."

"Hallucination?" questioned his friend as they turned back out on to the street. He then sighed, extremely frustrated. "I can't believe I'm taking you to some woman's house that I barely even know over a hallucination."

"If you barely know her," began House, taking some of the mints that Wilson had stashed in his car; "then why do you know where she lives?"

"Just because I don't know her all that well doesn't mean I've never seen her. Amber took me to her house a few times for barbeques they had over holidays."

"Huhn." House replied, sucking on the tip of the mint and then beginning to chew on it.

"This is the place." the driver said abruptly, turning into a drive way that had a blue Honda Civic parked in the front. "I'll go with you. Don't wanna scare her."

"It means so much to me." his friend retorted, placing a hand dramatically over his heart and looking at him like a puppy. Both then got out and shut their doors at once.

Wilson walked up to the door and politely rung the door bell- where as House may have just walked right in- and in a couple of moments a fairly attractive woman opened it. "Hello? Wilson, what brings you here?"

"Hi Sherry." he replied, some what sheepishly. "Amber's in the hospital right now. She was on the bus that crashed the other night."

"Oh no..." she mumbled sadly, looking up at them. "But what can I do? I don't know a thing about medicine if that's what you need."

"No, Sherry--"

"Look," House interrupted bluntly; "what ever's wrong with her is not a response to the crash. She's unconcious, and we need to find out where she was on the night of the bus crash so we can figure out what happened. Do you know _any thing _that might help us?"

Wilson looked at Sherry with a look that was apologetic for his friend.

"Hmm." she thrummed out thoughtfully. "I called her that night. She said some thing about a bar and told me she'd have to call me back. I figured she hadn't gotten back to me because she was busy and tired. "

"Did she tell you what bar she was going to?" asked Wilson, much more kindly than House had.

"I think so. " Sherry sighed, the look on her face making it evident that she was trying to remember. "I'm not sure what the name of it was. But I think she mentioned some thing about how close it was to a couple of diners."

"Hmm. I don't know of any bar near a diner. Thanks, Sherry. "

"You're welcome. Good luck trying to figure this out! I'll come in to visit her when she starts recovering."

"Thanks!" smiled Wilson, turning and walking away with House.

"Well, that was close to a dead end." House murmured, slightly annoyed.

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He walked back into the hospital and got back up to his office as quickly as he could. The Vicodin was finally beginning to kick in, but he was too bothered with being frustrated to notice. He sat down in his office chair, and- this time- began going through his voice messages. A few from Cuddy, asking him to meet her in her office...nothing out of the ordinary. House was disgruntled- until he thought of some thing else. He pulled his pager out and began looking through some of his old messages. Several from his team, alerting him of problems that were occuring.

Every thing kept on leading to dead ends!! Four hours had never seemed so much like an entire lifetime.

Wait! Maybe one of the people who'd ridden the bus would know where it had stopped! Suddenly feeling hopeful, he grabbed his cane and left the room as quickly as possible.

The person who's room he went to seemed to be all right. He was waiting on a kidney transplant- according to the charts. "Patrick," he said, walking nearer to him; "you were on the bus that crashed the other night?"

"Yes." he responded, a slight question in his tone. "I remember you. You got on the bus, too. You were drunk. " he took a deep breath and situated himself, then looked at the clipboard. "You're a doctor?"

"Where did I got on the bus?"

"You came stumbling out of a bar--"

"What. Bar." House growled out, irritated- though he wasn't sure if he was more irritated by people who wouldn't give him information or the fact that he couldn't remember.

"I think it was Sharries bar. " the guy replied. "Nice place. Decent prices."

"Thanks." he muttered, picking up and taking off out of there. Meanwhile, he had to figure out how to restore his memories to their proper place...


	3. Why didn't you?

A/N: There wasn't enough room in the summary for me to add "slight" before "Huddy", and it's really only if you look really hard. Sorry for the inconvenience.

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Cuddy stood beside Wilson in Amber's room, shifting through some papers on information she had held in her hand. The oncologist was standing beside his girlfriend, stroking her hand and looking up at the pulse monitor every few seconds. In so many ways, he was glad that she wasn't awake- for the pain she would be feeling if she was. He hoped to God she would be all right. He leaned his head down and kissed her forehead.

"It'll be okay, Amber." he whispered to her gently; "I promise."

As he stood, Cuddy looked over at him and put a hand on his shoulder.

"She _will _be fine, Dr. Wilson." she said seriously. "House may be a bit... crazy... but he knows what he's doing. If he didn't, I wouldn't have let him on this case."

Wilson just nodded and muttered a "Thanks". He didn't know if he believed it or not. But he had work that he had to get back to, he would come visit Amber again later at the end of his shift. "Page me if any thing happens." he said, receiving a nod from the administrator before walking out of the room.

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House sighed as he sat down to watch the DVD's of his favorite soap. This time, however, he was looking for clues- any bit of semi-factual information that he could use to get his memory back. Hypnotism had worked for a small part of it, but now he needed to figure out how to regain all of it if he wanted to help Amber. He watched the screen intently as he munched on a bag of french onion dip chips.

As he watched, a teenage patient came in that had gotten in a bad fight and a cuncussion whiped out his memory. Moving past the some-where near 10 minutes of tacky soap opera dialogue, he noticed the teen grab some instrument made of metal up off the table and put it in his pocket. Another 5 minutes of tacky dialogue came when his parents and girlfriend came in to see him.

Finally, seeming to be in such utter distress, once he was left alone the teen got up and placed the metal instrument in an outlet- electrocuting himself.

_Electricity? _House wondered as he watched the teenage patient convulse from having been electrocuted and fall to the ground. A few of the nurses then rushed in to save him, occupying even more time with tacky dialogue and false CPR-cures-all. But once the guy was awake, he had his memories back.

House rewound it.

Electricity! That's it! Electrical stimulation of the hippocampus could help bring his memories back up to the surface! Inwardly thrilled, he clicked the television off, grabbed his cane and made his way to the big, glass teaching room where Taub, Kutner, Thirteen, Foreman and Cuddy were all sitting and going over files.

"I got it!" he stated triumphantly, attracting their attention. "I know how I can get my memories back!"

"How?" asked Cuddy, equally thrilled and excited.

All eyes on him, House spoke; "Electrical stimulation of the lower hippocampus could help bring my memories to the surface.

Cuddy's excitement drooped visibly. "House, there is no way I'm going to let you undergo such a thing. " she said, as though he should have known that to begin with. And, hey, he probably should have. "Your heart stopped, your skull's been fractured and the only equipment we have to perform that is untested! It's too risky."

"If I don't do this, she could _die _because I don't remember what happened that night!"

"Find some other way, House. " she said dismissively. "I'm sure there are some safer ways you can find."

"Like what!" he demanded, stomping his cane like a 6-year-old would his foot. Time passed, and she just stared at him. She didn't know. "Well! I'm waiting for suggestions!"

"Find some safer way, House." she said, as though that would be the end of it, before sitting down. Why did she always have to act like she was some damn mother?! Annoyed, he turned and began down the hall. This time, however, he didn't go to his office- he just paced around in the hall way.

Maybe going there would help? It was a bit of a long shot, but maybe it would trigger some thing. He grabbed his pager up out of his pocket and paged Cuddy;

_I need a ride. -House_

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"Finally decide to go home and take the rest of the day off?" she aske hopefully as she started up her car.

"Nope." he responded, crushing the hope. "I need you to take me to Sharries. "

"Sharries?" she said quizzically. "Isn't that a bar?"

"Yep. "

"Why would you want to go there?"

"Because they have strippers now! Didn't you know that?"

Cuddy sighed, letting her annoyance show slightly. But for some reason, she felt like she _had _to take him. She took off in the car down the road, and after a while she pulled into the library. House glanced over at her, confused.

"I'm here to get directions. Stay here." she said, opening the door and getting out.

It took her about 5 minutes to get back, holding a page of directions in her hand off of MapQuest. House didn't say any thing, he just sat his head back and took another handful of Vicodin.

"How many of those have you had today?" she asked, as though she were his mother and had a right to the information.

"Enough." he replied, capping the lid and putting it back in his pocket.

"Ugh...House..." she muttered to herself in frustration. Damn addict!

"Here." she said, bringing the car to a stop. "The bar. Don't be too long."

"Yes, mommy." he fake-whined, rolling his eyes as he stepped out with his cane and made his way through the entrance. The bar tender noticed, and apparently recognized, him, as he went to the cash register and pulled out a set of keys.

"I was wondering if you'd be back." he stated, tossing House his keys. He grabbed them. The place looked familiar, like the place in his mind Chase had taken him to under hypnosis.

"Hey!" the doctor shouted, trying to get the guy's attention again as he walked over towards the barstool. "How long was I hear for the other night?"

"Couple hours. Maybe an hour and a half." the bartender shrugged. "You got pretty drunk."

"Was there any one here with me?" House asked, leaning up against the counter.

"No. You came in by yourself. Some one came to pick you up though. I think...your girlfriend." The guy turned,and started handing drinks out to a few people who had ordered them. "What are you getting at?"

"Nothing." another dead end! Damn dead ends all over the place. Sighing, he sat down. He was still on call, so he wasn't going to drink- just sit there for a minute. When red fabric caught his eye again, he raised his head and looked over.

Amber. Which meant that this could be a memory. "Is this a memory?"he muttered out loud, hearing it echo in his head.

"Is it?" she asked, looking at him.

House thought a minute. "No. You weren't wearing that on the night of the crash. Which means this is a hallucination."

"Wilson's really worried, you know."

"Of course I know. Every thing that's going on is going in on my head. "  
"I never really thought you were one for following the rules." the hallucination said, placing her head over the palm of her hand.

"What do you mean?"

"Normally, you wouldn't have cared for Cuddy's approval. You would've just electricuted your brain to figure it out. Why didn't you?"

House blinked and looked down. It was a good question. When he looked up to answer, the figure was gone- and he had to get back out to the car. He stepped down off the barstool and walked out.

"Any thing useful?" his boss asked hopefully. He just shook his head and sat back down in the car.

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A small while later, as he was sitting in his office, Foreman opened the door. "Graves Disease tests were negative."

He nodded, letting a little bit of air escape.

"There was some thing else." the neurologist began to ask. "When we turned her over, undigested food started spewing out of her mouth."

"You mean she started puking?"

"Yes, but she wasn't conscious. And she still isn't." he said,the seriousness of the situation sinking through in his tone.

"First, racing heart beat...second, vomitting..." House considered. "Vomitting could be from the hang-over. MRI her heart. "

Foreman breathed heavily and left the room. Greg picked up his pager and paged Kutner and Thirteen, telling them to meet him in the teaching room.


	4. Authorization

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Kutner and Thirteen obediently met House in the teaching room. He was already there, leaning half-way up against his cane.

"You two," he said, pulling a key out of his pocket; "are going hunting today."

Thirteen eyed him quizically, and Kutner's face lit up. "For what?" he asked, seeming to be filled with anticipation.

"Any thing that could be causing this." he said, placing the key in Kutner's hand. "Wilson's key. Here's the address." he slipped a piece of paper to Thirteen, and turned back to the board.

The other two shuffled out and Kutner drove to their home.

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House limped into his office, and laid down on his sofa. He was exhausted, trying to figure out where his memories were was proving to get more and more difficult by the second. The bartender said that he'd gone in alone, and some one picked him up. From other pieces of memories, he could figure that it was Amber. But of all people, why in the world would he call _her _to come pick him up? He closed his eyes and tried to concentrate the way Chase had told him to. He must have fallen asleep, however, for in a few moments he found himself sitting on the bus.

He could make out the faces of a few people he'd seen in the hospital, but most of their faces were facing away from him. Which meant he'd probably been sitting pretty far back on the bus. Amber was strangely hard to make out, just sitting there in a complete blurr and haze in front of his eyes. Bits and pieces of a conversation floated into his mind.

_...head...ridiculous...where..._

He heard her mutter, but the rest all sounded like mumbled jargon in his ear. She looked like she was going through some sort of bag, but House couldn't exactly make it out.

The picture faded as he opened his eyes. He was awake now, and felt like he had a little bit more to help figure this out. Wilson came in as House came tuned, telling him that the MRI was clear. House's head was foggy. He rubbed his eyes and sat up, then had to stop; he'd gotten dizzy.

"House?" Wilson questioned, leaning in to be face-to-face with him. "House, are you all right?"

"Mmhng." he replied, his entire body felt tired- including his jaw. What could Amber have been talking about?  
"The MRI was clean..." he began, trailing off with; "why were you sleeping?"

"Why do most people sleep?"

"Maybe Cuddy was right." he sighed. "Maybe you should go home and rest."

"No." he insisted, standing up. He had fallen asleep with his cane over his chest, and was now using it to help balance himself. He really wished he wouldn't have fallen asleep. His pager flashed a red light, letting him know that there were some messages. He picked it up and examined it;

_Found some pills. Examining them in the lab. -Kutner_

He nodded and placed it back in his pocket. "How's Cutthroat Bitch?"

"Unconcious." he replied statively.

House sighed as he sat and contemplated. Amber had said some thing about a "head". What was it? Well, his best bet was that she was talking about her head. Maybe she had a headache? Hm. Could mean a tumor. "CT her brain." he said decisively. The question from his previous hallucination haunted him; _Why didn't you? _He wondered why he didn't just go ahead and do it any ways.

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A small while later, he found himself back in the teaching room with Foreman, Wilson, and Kutner. Thirteen and Taub were wrapping it up in the lab, and House didn't assume Thirteen planned to come back.

"Okay..." House thrummed, picking up a container of what said "Vitamin A".

"This is ridiculous. " Wilson grunted. "I would know if Amber was taking any medications!"

"Did you know she was taking diet pills?" House retorted.

"Why would she--"

"Did you know she was hiding them in a bottle of vitamins?" he added, shaking the bottle.

"But she'd have to take more than that bottle can hold for it to be doing this!"

"If she hid these, who knows what else she's been hiding?" he said, picking up another bottle that said "Vitamin C". Nothing but a half-empty Vitamin C bottle.

"She's been taking those for the last couple of weeks." Wilson stated. "Flu season's coming around and she didn't want to catch it."

"Hunh." House hummed thoughtfully. "Any thing else?"

"Just some Excedrin." Kutner shrugged, handing it to House. "Excedrin Tension Headache".House opened it and looked inside. Not even 1/4 of the way gone. No over-dose.

"Check her copper levels. " House stated, swiveling a bit in the chair. If they were low, that could mean an over-dose of vitamin C. If that was all this was, all she would have to do was quit taking it.

Kutner and Foreman left the room, and Wilson stayed behind with House. For a few minutes, they just sat there.

"Did you see the CT results yet?"  
"Yeah.They were perfectly normal. No tumors or growths."

"Hnng." House seemed distant for a moment. He was thinking on the hallucination the other day- trying to figure out why in the world he didn't just do it. "I'm off shift." he said suddenly, standing. Maybe Cuddy was right. Maybe resting would help. The results for the copper wouldn't be back until the next day- they stopped sending results out at 5:00pm and it was already after 6. "Wilson, I need a ride home."

"All right." he breathed, grabbing his keys. "I'll take you."

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House didn't sleep at all that night. He just laid there, wishing he could some how get his memories back. If it weren't for the fact that some one's life depended on his memory, it wouldn't bother him to have lost those hours. But Amber's life depended on him remembering.

When he got in to work the next day, he found himself seated at his office chair again. His eyes were blood shot, his head resting on his cane. Another hour before the results of the copper tests were back. He hated having to do all this waiting.

Cuddy walked by his door, and- concerned- she opened it and looked in. "House? What are you doing here? You're not supposed to be here for another hour."

"Internet's down. Can't watch my porn."

"You..." she began, upset with him that every thing had to be a joke. "You didn't sleep at all last night, did you?" he didn't reply. Cuddy took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. "Do you really want to do it?"

"Do what?"

"Use the electrical stimulus to get your brain going."  
"Yes."

She inhaled again. The idea scared her to bits. "Okay. I'll authorize it." she said, turning and walking out of the room.

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House was resting on the sofa in his office an hour and a half later when Taub came in with the results of the copper test. "The results say that her copper level is elevated." he said, sounding starkly confused. House stood, grabbed his cane, and took the elevator downwards. He was going to figure this out once and for all.

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Chase and Foreman hooked the probe up to the side of House's head. Wilson stood beside House, hoping this would work.

"Okay. We're ready."

"Put it on low." House said, and a gentle static-like feeling touched his head.


	5. Memory

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An extremely blurry picture of the bartender appeared in his mind. House struggled to try and focus on it. He heard the guy say "you're not getting these tonight" and assumed he was talking about his keys- though the vision wasn't good enough for him to detect. The vision faded as soon as the static-like feeling did.

"Did you get any thing?" Chase asked- a bit nervous about the idea of turning it up. He knew as well as Cuddy did that this wasn't any good for him.

"Not really." he replied. "Turn it up a little."

This time, he saw a hazey, slightly fuzzy picture of a cell phone that he could tell didn't belong to him. He saw himself dialing numbers that he assumed to be Amber's cell number, but he couldn't make it out. The vision faded, just as the other one had.

House closed his eyes. "Turn it up more." he demanded. A painful shock, like when touching a charged-up door knob, ceased the back of his head. He jumped a little, and saw this time some thing else- in perfectly clear vision.

Amber walking him out of the bar. The bartender called for the money, and she went back to pay. He scurried out of the bar, on to the bus and then...

He lost it. He opened his eyes again.

"I still don't know what happened." he grumbled, practically ripping the probes off the back of his head. When he got up to walk, he felt dizzy and had to stop. The pain in his leg also began to return. He reached into his pocket and downed a handful of Vicodin.

He felt his body begin to waver. Chase and Foreman also noticed that he was unable to stand still. They ran up behind him and caught him as he fell, completely loosing conciousness.

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_The bartender grunted, and leaned his hand over- grabbing House's keys with his fist. "You're not getting these back tonight." he said, putting them in the cash register._

_"Hey!" House called, hearing a slight slurr in his voice. "If you're taking my keys, you gotta let me make a phone call!"_

_The bartender shot him a disapproving glance and placed the cell phone down in front of him. Greg picked the cell phone up. The number he'd dialed was Wilson's house phone- not his cell._

_Amber answered. _

_"Hello. Who's this?"  
"It's House." he bellowed drunkenly. "Where's Wilson?"_

_"He's on call...you drunk ass."_

_"I heard that."_

_"Good. Then I won't need to repeat myself."_

_"Look," he began again; "I need him to come pick me up."_

_"Where are you?"_

_"I don't know. I think...Sharries..." _

_"Fine, I'll come get you so he doesn't have to deal with it." she grunted, then hung up the phone. House sat there with it hanging in his hand for a few minutes before the bartender took it away._

_A few minutes later, Amber walked in. "Okay. I'm here." she said abruptly; "Let's go." _

_"Give me a Cosmopolitian!"_

_The bartender passed it around._

_"No. We're going." she said, rolling her eyes in the tender's direction. _

_"After you take a drink."_

_"Fine. One, then you go willingly."she said, grabbing the glass and chugging it down. "Okay. I'm done."_

_"One more!"_

_"House!" she snapped irritably. The drink got passed around._

_"Either you drink it or I will."_

_She rolled her eyes again, drank it down like she had the last one and slammed it down on the counter. "No more. We're going."_

_He stood,attempted to walk off on his cane, but Amber noticed he could barely walk. "You're really drunk, can't even walk on your own." she muttered, placing her upper body beneathe his arm and helping him to the door. "Did you pay?"_

_"I never pay."_

_"Hey, some one's gotta pay for this!"_

_Exhasperated, Amber ran back over to pay. House limped out, leaving his cane behind with her, and found the bus loading up passengers. How convenient! He got there as fast as he could, and sat in a seat way far back. Amber would never find him now!_

_...or...maybe she would. A few minutes before the bus started up, she made her way back to him and sat in the seat straight across. "You forgot some thing." she said, placing his cane on the seat beside him. The bus started up. _

_"Ugh. My head." she grumbled, opening her purse. House looked over at her and stared a second. _

_"You just had alcohol." he said,noticing the pills she took out of her purse._

_"...damn you." she replied, placing them back inside. She couldn't take them now._

_Excedrin Tension Headache. _

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House knew what happened.

If only he was awake to tell some one!


	6. Reasoning

A/N: Sorry about the wait. I was trying to see if I could get any more reviews. People have stopped reviewing and I'm wondering if you guys still like it or what?? If there's some thing you don't like,would like to see written, or would like to have changed, tell me in a review! I'll be happy to see what I can do.

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Wilson looked at the clock. 6:38am, exactly. He hadn't slept since House passed out; some where around two days prior. It was said that Amber's condition was beginning to improve, that they wanted to wake her up soon. But Wilson didn't want that; not until they figured out what happened. For what was already the fourth time that morning, he took the elevator downstairs and into Amber's hospital room. For the last two days, he'd been back and forth between his best friend and his girl friend, watching them to be sure that they were okay. He'd only left once, and that was to go home and bring over some of his showering supplies and an over-night bag. He wouldn't sleep at home alone, any ways, especially knowing that the two most important people in his life were in the hospital. For a few moments, he just stood there, looking down at her face and stroking his fingertips through her hair. She was gorgeous- it was the undeniable fact, even with all the gashes and bangs she had. Wilson wondered if she could ever look vulnerable. She didn't need his protection. That was another undeniable fact. Even laying here, in a hospital bed, with induced hypothermia, she looked strong. Strong enough to protect herself. He sighed and leant down to gently kiss her forehead.

"Every thing's going to be okay, Amber." he whispered; "I promise."

And at that, he stood- deciding to head down into the cafeteria to get himself some coffee and some breakfast. If Amber woke up to find that he hadn't taken care of himself, she would be upset with him. He grabbed himself some money out of his overnight bag and followed the hospital signs into the cafeteria. It wasn't open for the patients for another 45 minutes, but it was always open to employees. He open the large, steel double-doors and- quite a bit to his surprise- Thirteen was there. She didn't need to be here for another hour and ten minutes, and from the looks of it, she'd already been here a while. If it weren't for the fact that she was standing there, waiting for her order, however, he probably wouldn't have even cared. But she was there, and he was lonely; Wilson hadn't had a conversation with any one in days, other than patients, and "You're dying" isn't really that satisfying of a conversation. The oncologist stepped over to her, locating himself beside her as he waited for one of the workers to come around for him.

"What are you doing here so early?" he asked, genuinely curious. Although Wilson had similar abilities to those of what House had, he didn't look for them so he could blackmail people.

"Dr.Cuddy needed my help." she stated, sounding a bit more tired than Wilson had originally thought her to be. The lady came around and passed her a cardboard cup with a plastic coffee lid, filled with what he already knew was decaffeinated coffee with a small bit of sugar.

"Large black coffee." he said, handing her 3.00. "You seem distracted lately."

"Hm." she replied, her mouth full of the hot beverage. "How so?"

"You haven't come up with a single diagnosis." he said, noticing that his coffee had come around and reaching up to grab it. "And you haven't been with the team as much." he pulled the beverage down. "Can I get a couple of icecubes?" he asked the lady, who nodded and went back to the freezer.

"I don't have the answer." she stated simply. "If I did, we could treat her."

"Do you hate her?" he asked, taking the couple of icecubes as they came around and removing the lid so he could gently plunk them into his cup. Then, he replaced the lid and gently shook the cup around.

"Not so much 'hate'." she told him seriously.

"She hates you."

"Yes, I'm aware of this."

"Any particular reason?"

"Nope."

"Do you care?"

"Nope."

Wilson sighed and took a sip of his coffee. "You're more professional than that."

"Than what?" she asked, wondering mentally if they shouldn't get out of the line and go sit down. However, just as she was wondering, Wilson grabbed a bagel and put it in the toaster.

"Letting personal prejudices get in the way of doing your job." he said casually. "You don't want her to die, do you?"

"Not in particular."

"House was right about you."

"He was?"

"Yep. You _are _a mystery."

She just nodded in reply. "And you haven't gotten much sleep these last couple days." she told him, stirring the coffee straw around in the small hole of the lid. "You should rest. "

At that point, the bagel popped up. Wilson grabbed it and put some cream cheese on it. "You wanna sit down?" he suggested. She nodded as she pulled her cup down away from her mouth, and walked with him over to a table. He placed the bagel in his mouth sandwich-style and took a bite.

"How is he doing, any ways?" she asked him, this time taking her turn to be genuinely curious.

"All right. Dr.Cuddy thinks he'll be awake any time now. " he replied, rinsing the thick bits of bagel in his throat down with some more of his coffee.

"Ms.Volakis's condition is slowly improving." she told him with a slight nod.

"Ms.Volakis?" he questioned, quirking a brow. "No one calles Amber that. Accept maybe Cuddy. "

Thirteen finished off her coffee, then tossed it in the trash can behind her. "They all still want to try to wake her up." she said.

"What about you?" he asked, whiping bits of bagel and cream cheese off his mouth with a napkin.

"I think it may be helpful to locate other symptoms...which would be easier if she were conscious. But it may be a good idea to at least wait for House to come tuned. "

Wilson nodded respectfully. He could see why House had agreed to hire her, even over Amber. Amber was intelligent and talented, but she was also kiniving and manipulative. He knew good and well that, if the situations were switched and Amber was in a good mood, she'd be taking House's clinic duty and completely ignoring the patient. If she weren't in a good mood, she'd be coming up with diagnosis that would kill her or diagnosis that required treatment that was fatal if the disorder didn't exist. Which was nothing compared to if she were in a bad mood. And besides, House likes a good mystery- especially an attractive one.

Right then, Wilson's pager went off. He jerked his head towards his belt and unclipped it, hoping it wasn't an emergency. Nope, no emergency.

_House is waking up. -Cuddy_

"He's waking up." he told Thirteen, grabbing his now only half-full cup of coffee and bagel. "I'm going to go find out what happened." then, he took off out of the room, and took the elevator up stairs to House's room.

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A/N: This chapter is a bit short in comparison, and I know it may seem irrelevent, but trust me- it's relevent in Thirteen's "case".


	7. Start Up

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"Cuddy?" Wilson called hopefully as he stepped into House's room.

"Yes." she replied, standing at House's side. "He's waking up. I'm sure he'll want to see you."

He heaved a sigh of relief, finished his coffee, and tossed it. One medical emergency down, only one left. He watched as House grunted and his eyes began to shudder. He let out a long, Frakenstein-like groan and his good leg shifted around.

"Amber..." he breathed, as his eyes opened. "how is Amber's condition?" his head hurt; bits of his memory had been distorted for the time being. Ironic, really, considering that he'd done what he'd done only to get his memory back.

"You idiot!" Cuddy cried, her voice cracking audibly. "Do you realize what you could have done to yourself?! You're lucky you're brain isn't damaged!"

House just looked at her, a some what serious, some what dazed look on his face. Then, he turned his face to Wilson. "How is Cutthroat Bitch doing?" he asked, his voice already beginning to clear up.

"Your team says she's getting better." he responded, inhaling deeply.

"Good. I'm right then." he replied, shoulders relaxing. "I figured out what happened."

"What?" Cuddy and Wilson asked at once; Cuddy being shocked and Wilson being curious and excited.

"Hepatatoxicity." he said, reaching over for his cane. His muscles felt weak. "She must have taken Excedrin before she came to pick me up. The substances counteracted. Warm her up, start her heart. Once the alcohol is out of her system, she'll be fine."

Two medical emergencies down. Wilson inhaled deeply again and placed his hand up over the 5o'clock shadow- resembling stubble that had grown on him over the last couple of days.

"House..." Cuddy began, concern for him obvious in her voice. "...please don't ever...do that again." she began to cry, a sight Wilson didn't too often consider. "We could have lost you." she placed her face down on his shoulder, continuing to cry. As usual, he just laid there, eyeing her some what awkwardly.

After a few seconds, he looked back up at Wilson. "Tell Kutner I want him to start her back up with the defibulator paddles. And tell Thirteen I want to talk to her."

The oncologist just nodded and left the room in a daze. House was okay. Amber was going to be fine. He had never felt so much tensity leave his body as it did at that very moment. He wanted to run, jump, dance and scream for glee... but instead, he simply followed House's orders. Strange, since Wilson wasn't even one of his employees. Kutner wasn't there yet, and probably wouldn't be for another half an hour, but Thirteen was. He walked back into the cafeteria, where he found her once again, this time eating a banana.

"House wants to talk to you." he said, evoking a strange look from the girl as she swallowed.

"All right." she said, tossing the peel. "Take me to his room."

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It was only a few minutes later when she pushed open the door to his room. Cuddy, apparently, had gotten herself together and left the room shortly after they walked in.

"Ahh, Thirteen. My favorite lesbian." he said, obviously still stuck on that bit of information.

_Ahh, House. My favorite jackass._ she thought to herself, but said nothing.

"You were screwing up the case." he told her, reaching out for a hospital-supplied cane. "Big time." he used the odd cane to stand, and then reached for the bottle of Vicodin on his bed stand and downed a handful. "I don't know why, but what ever it is, get over it before the next case comes along... or you're fired."

And to that, she said nothing; just watched him limp out of the room. Once he was gone, she couldn't help it; she flopped down onto the hospital bed and put her head down in the palm of her right hand. The day hadn't even started yet, and she was exhausted. In case some one else walked in, Thirteen got up and walked into one of the hospital bathrooms and sat there. Her head ached; pounded, in fact. She gently places her fingers over the aching areas and just...sat there.

It must have been hours after she sat there that she received a message on her pager that said; _Amber's awake. -Kutner_. She was happy that she was all right, but other than that, the girl really couldn't have cared less.

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"You should be fine..." House was telling Amber; "once the alcohol works it's way through your system. Your leg should be fine,too. And we already have a kidney donor set up for you. The reason why you aren't better already is because we slowed your body down, so you haven't gotten rid of all of it yet."

"Who?" she asked, obviously quite tired.

"A lady by the name of Sherry Ivanov." he said. "We have to take out both of yours, but we'll be giving you another one. And don't worry, you guys are the same blood type."

"Sherry...?" Amber questioned, looking straight up at Wilson. He nodded.

"Amber!" came the excited, some-what feminine squeal as the woman they'd met only a few days ago walked into her hospital room. "I was so happy when Wilson called me and said you'd be all right."

"Hey Sherry." she said, laying her head back on the pillow. "Thanks."

Her friend looked genuinely confused.

"For the organ."

"Oh!" Sherry exclaimed. "It's fine. I'm happy to do it. But you should rest, hon. You're tired."

"When did you become my mom?" Amber joked, laughing lightly. Sherry smiled.

"The day I gave birth to you." she teased, stroking the woman's hair. "Now get some rest. They're going to do the kidney transplant in a couple of hours."

She nodded. "Okay." and then, she turned her gaze to Wilson. He read her eye's signal, and leant down to kiss her. "I love you." she told him, reaching out and grabbing his hand. "I love you no matter what happens."

"I love you, too." he replied, tears of joy swelling into his eyes. "No matter what."

Seemingly content, she nodded, and allowed her head to fall off to the side of her pillow. Within a few moments, she was asleep. Wilson couldn't believe it. Tears of joy streamed down his face like a waterfall. She was going to be perfectly fine. Over-joyed, he threw his arms tightly around Sherry, who just smiled and hugged him back.

"Oh, how cute." House muttered, rolling his eyes. "Should I puke now, or should I have puked two minutes ago when you and Amber said you loved eachother... or some thing like that?"

"House!" Wilson exclaimed lecturingly. Sherry giggled.

"I'm hungry." he said, tapping his cane on the ground impatiently as a seven-year-old would.

"There's food in the cafeteria." said the oncologist in a slightly disgusted tone.

"I know! Amazing, isn't it? _Food _in a _cafeteria!_" he rolled his eyes. "I haven't eaten in two days, I want _real _food."

"You'll have to wait until we're off shift." said Wilson. "I'm still on call. Thanks again, Sherry." he said, pulling away from her.

"No problem! You and Amber are like family to me." she smiled, and he returned the favor.

"I have to go now, but I'll stop by and see you both before the operation." he said, turning and walking out of the room.

House looked at Amber for a moment, then looked away. He blinked and shook his head disbelievingly.

"Looks like you almost killed me." she said, opening her eyes. That fake!

"Then I saved you." House wasn't surprised.

"So we're even. I owe you nothing."

He bit his lip and remained silent as he watched her fall asleep- for real this time- and then walked out of the room.


	8. You lied to me

A/N: Sorry, guys! I just had to use the bathroom scene to some degree xD

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The day was nearing it's end. The kidney transplant between Sherry and Amber had been completed, and the two young women were conscious and chit-chatting in their hospital room. Wilson was there, too, chatting amongst them when he felt the need to, and continuously whispering "I love you" to his girlfriend. House had been watching them for some time now outside the hospital room. As he realized the time, the Vicodin addict popped a handful of pills into his mouth, dry-swallowed, and took off. He needed a distraction.

The ladies room wasn't too far away. He knew Thirteen was in there, contemplating her fate. It was empty, accept for her and now himself. Casually, House stepped into the stall beside her and spread his legs so that one of his feet kicked one of hers.

"Sorry, wide-stance." he grunted, as though being in the women's bathroom was the most common thing in the world.

"What are you doing here?"

"I work here."

"I mean in the women's room." she added, placing two fingers on her forehead in an attempt to rid herself of a headache.

"I have many secrets." he replied, thumping his cane on the ground. "You didn't really want to work on this case, did you?" he asked rhetorically.

She sighed and held her head a bit more roughly.

"Wilson told me that you said you don't hate her."

"Not enough to want her dead."

"So it wasn't guilt." House said confidantly, sitting relaxedly on the toilet. "Which means it was fear. A young woman dying. A doctor, in fact. "

"Sounds familiar." she replied begrudingly, standing and walking out- only to find him there, facing her.

"How so?" he asked, playing dumb.

"I am at risk for Huntington's." she seethed angrily.

"So deal with it."

"I've dealt with it."

"Dealing with it by not dealing with it." he replied contemplatively. "Yeah. That makes sense." then, he added; "I meant it when I said get over it or you're fired. "

He turned and walked away. As he neared the door, she finally spoke to him;

"Do you still have the results? Of the test you ran...?"

"In my office." he said, opening the door. She followed him.

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She stood patiently in the doorway as he filtered through a stack of papers. "Hope you don't mind that I already looked at the results." he said, as though he would care, as he pulled the envelope out of his drawer and handed it to her.

She took it. Yep. It had already been opened. "Why?" she asked, looking down at the dust-covered envelope, still struggling with herself on whether she should find out or not. "What did it say?"

"If you want to know, just open the damn thing."

Thirteen breathed deeply and pulled out the paper, leaving it folded for a moment so she still couldn't see the results. All the time she'd spent not knowing suddenly seemed meaningless. She hadn't shielded herself from the truth only to some day find out. But maybe she was ready now.

"Will I want to know?" she asked him softly as she began to unfold it.

"You haven't wanted to know for the last twenty years. Maybe more than that, in fact. "

House's words had never seemed so encouraging. Mustering up the last bit of her courage, she opened up the paper.

And then, there was silence. The sound of the clock ticking seemed to echo. Her breathing was steady, her gaze slightly shocked, her lips gently parted so bits of air was getting in. And she said nothing.

"Looks like your mother didn't leave you a souvineer, after all. What a pity. Some parents are so cheap."

Still, she said nothing. Only folded the paper back up, and stuck it into the envelope. Then she noiselessly placed it down on his desk, and walked out.

"8 o'clock tomorrow, Thirteen!" her boss called after her loudly. A grin spread through her face as she continued down the hall and onto the elevator.

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It was 10:00pm, and House was still there- again standing outside the glass walls to the hospital room Amber and Sherry were in. The three were still laughing and having a good time. Wilson was clutching Amber's hand. The clinic had closed two hours ago, and his shift had ended three hours ago. Since every one left, he'd been standing there, surveying the scene. It was true that Cutthroat Bitch was almost a female replica of himself. All of the qualities he liked about himself, he loved about her. But she also had those qualities in himself that he really disliked.

He had gone to the bar alone because he couldn't take it any more. Couldn't stand the constant conversations about Amber. What they were doing this week, where she wanted to go on vacation, was she pregnant...he'd had enough. And as he stood there, staring in through the glass, two realities hit him.

One, he'd lost his best friend to a female version of himself.

Two, he didn't _have _to save her.

Granted, on the note of the latter, it would have worked it's way through her body, any ways. But he always could have waited. Waited until her heart had been at a stop or a near stop for so long that it would be impossible to start it again. He always could have left her, could not have put his life in danger to save her. She was a Cutthroat Bitch, his female counterpart. Why had he saved her?

Another reality. If he lost her, he'd lose Wilson, too.

An even harder reality. He'd still lost his best friend.

Sighing, House picked up his cane and began down the hall. It was 10:15pm, and he was sick of watching this scene over and over and over. Should've, could've, would've, but didn't. Cuddy, being surprised by his appearance, left her office.

"House, what are you still doing here?"

He ignored the question. "So, you lied to me." he stated in a gruff monotone. "Not that I'm surprised, every body lies. "

"Lied to you about what?" she replied, quirking an eye brow.

"You said I wouldn't lose my best friend."

She breathed deeply, a slight shake coming over her. Sympathy showed in her eyes. "You didn't lose him, House."

"Wanna bet?" he asked, pointing his cane down the hallway. "He only talks to me about Amber now. "

Cuddy didn't say any thing. She just watched him turn around and leave. After all, what could she say?

He was right.


	9. Epilogue

A/N: Here it is, the last chapter! Hope you enjoyed! REVIEW, DAMMIT!

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After a few days of monitoring, an IM Rod was inserted into Amber's leg. She was sent home, with out a cane, but with stitches in her upper leg until the area healed. She would be fine.

House popped a few Vicodin into his mouth. Maybe he should have more friends. The fact was, he didn't. Wilson had always been his best and only. Every one else was just a puzzle. Wilson was the one person he wanted to keep as a friend, even after solving the puzzle. And he'd lost him. Lost him to a female version of himself.

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For a few weeks, he neither saw nor heard nothing from Dr.Cameron. Normally, she'd leave a note on his desk once a week, complaining about how untidy it had been and about how he couldn't always expect people to clean up for him. That was okay, though. Taub took over the job of organizing his stuff.

Then, one day, she called him.

"Dr. Greggory House?" she questioned in a very business-like tone.

"I wish I had some sort of joke in reply to that."

"I thought I should notify you of my resignation at Princton Plainsboro Hospital."

"If I'd cared, I could've found out from Cuddy."

"I wanted to thank you."

Those last words took him by surprise- until she began to explain herself.

"I learned a lot while studying under your supervision. You gave me a great deal of hands-on learning experience that I would not have been able to find any where else accept by working for you."

"Where are you working now?"

"Harper Memorial Hospital in Cape Cod."

"And Chase?"

"As far as I know, he's still working there. "

House took a deep, thoughtful breath. His face was apathetic, but inwardly he was proud of her. Proud of her for getting some where other than here.

"House?" she said, breaking him from his thoughts. Then, with out interruption, she told him; "I still hate you."

He knew she was lying. Allison Cameron didn't have a single hateful bone in her body.

"And I still don't care."

"Goodbye, House." Cameron whispered, hanging up the phone as soon as the last syllable was uttered. House said nothing, simply hung up his mechanical device and began to play with his fuzzy ball.

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For two weeks after that, Cameron called him every day. "To check up on patients," she'd told him. But it was far more than that. Based on their substance of conversation, it was more to call and make sure he was okay.

After that, it became once a week.

Then twice a month.

Then once a month.

And then, after that, nothing. No phone calls, no emails, no notes, nothing.

Wilson and Amber began to do the typical "on-again-off-again" thing in most relationships. But she still cared for him. And he was still in love with her. Every time he thought about it, House had to pop a handful of Vicodin. He was taking them a lot more these days. He also began to drink a lot more, mostly what ever alcohol he could get his hands on. After a while, he gave up with hookers.

Then, one day, as he was looking through his mail, a letter caught his eye. A letter addressed from "Dr.Allison Cameron" from the Harper Hospital in Cape Cod, Massachusets. Normally, he wouldn't have been going through his own mail- but this one was addressed directly to his appartment complex.

Cameron knew his habits well.

House opened the envelop, and slowly read through the words;

_Dear Dr.Greggory House;_

_As you know, I have recently been employed at the Harper Hospital in Cape Cod. I am now working as the second-head diagnostician at this hospital. But that's not what I'm writing to you about. As for Dr.Robert Chase, I wish him well. He had a great deal of intelligence and talent in the medical field._

_But I wasn't in love with him. _

_House, you probably know this already, but I don't hate you. I never could hate you. I wanted to, sure. I wanted to think I did. But I couldn't hate you. _

_In fact, I still love you. _

_I know I haven't called to speak with you in a while. It's because, for one, I have been very busy. And for another, because I realized how I felt about you. How I really felt about you. And I didn't want to feel that way, so I didn't talk to you- hoping it would go away._

_But it didn't. It still hasn't. In fact, that's what drove me to write this letter. I just wanted to let you know that I still love you. And that I stopped dying my hair blonde._

_Sincerely,_

_Dr.Allison Cameron._

A mischevious smile spread over his face as a high from the Vicodin kicked in. He folded the paper up, and threw it in the garbage.

Later on, he wrote her a reply.


End file.
